The Landlady's Adventure
by Anawey
Summary: When Mr. Holmes goes missing, Dr. Watson turns up hurt and feverish, and Scotland Yard is diverted by a murder case, it’s up to Mrs. Hudson to save the day. Rated for intenseness.


The Landlady's Adventure

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When Mr. Holmes goes missing, Dr. Watson turns up hurt and feverish, and Scotland Yard is diverted by a murder case, it's up to Mrs. Hudson to save the day.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing. This cropped up into my head because of all the times Mrs. Hudson – played beautifully by Rosalie Williams – was pretty much invaluable to Holmes and Watson in the Granada series, which I love.

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Good Lord  
XxX

It was late, of that Mrs. Amelia Hudson was certain. Late, and well past the time her two lodgers were usually home and in their beds. Asleep.

Or at least, the doctor would be. Mr. Holmes was often up all hours of the night, either shooting holes into her wall, or playing his violin at three o'clock in the morning.

Decent folk _ought _to be asleep at such a time, but Mr. Holmes always had kept strange hours. Perhaps there was nothing to his and the doctor's absence.

That, at least, was what she hoped.

As she waited for her tenants at the foot of the stairs – this was often her custom when they were out late (or in Mr. Holmes's case, out when they ought to be in bed, as per Dr. Watson's orders) – the cat she employed to keep away any possible mice wandered through, stopping to rub against Mrs. Hudson's legs for attention.

Absently, the landlady stroked the rust colored tiger-striped tom , her eyes trained on the door.

_When _were those two foolish men going to come home?

The hall clock struck the hour, and Mrs. Hudson counted eleven chimes. She could not keep at this. She was too old for this sort of thing.

Surely Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson would be home by morning.

And both had their keys with them; there was no need for her to stay up waiting for them all night long.

With a last look at the door, Mrs. Hudson shook her head, and made her way back to her room to sleep.

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In the morning, Mrs. Hudson woke to absolute silence. No wailing violin, nor footsteps from the rooms above, no voices drifting down the stairs as she went into the hall to reach the kitchen.

Afraid that her lodgers still had not returned, she climbed the seventeen steps, and knocked on the sitting room door.

"Mr. Holmes?" she called through the wood. "Doctor?"

There was no answer, and when she tried the handle, the door was unlocked.

The sitting room of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson was just as it had been when the two left it.

There was Mr. Holmes's pipe upon the end table by his chair, and Dr. Watson's empty tea cup on the breakfast table, a newspaper next to it.

But there was no Mr. Holmes or Dr. Watson.

The door to Mr. Holmes's bedroom was open, the room clearly empty.

Backing out into the sitting room, the landlady turned to go up the stairs to Dr. Watson's room, though she was not really expecting to find him there.

And she didn't.

_No need to panic, _she reminded herself. _They've done this before, though on those occasions I at least had word._

"Ooh, they'll have a piece of my mind for this," she grumbled, bustling off to her kitchen for breakfast.

She cooked the eggs in silence, setting down some meat scraps for the tom cat. Mrs. Hudson tried to be annoyed, but the longer Holmes and Watson were gone, the more she worried.

It may have been like the detective to leave for days at a time without notice, but the doctor certainly would have sent word.

Should she go to Scotland Yard, then?

No, the police were more familiar with Mr. Holmes's eccentricities than she was. They were more likely to send her home, saying everything was fine, when something, very deep in her core, was beginning to think it wasn't.

When the eggs were done, she set her plate on the table, and began on breakfast for her lodgers.

They would, of course, be hungry when they finally made it home.

Their meal ready and kept warm on the stove, Mrs. Hudson sat down to her own plate, and ate.

Her thoughts wandered, and she remembered several instances when Mr. Holmes had pulled such stunts as this. But always, she'd either had the doctor with her to remind her that Mr. Holmes was more than capable, or Dr. Watson had sent her word.

Without the slightest thing to assure her now of their safety, worry was beginning to move in.

Once more she contemplated going to Scotland Yard, but again she was forced to dismiss the idea. There was no guarantee they would think anything was wrong.

She couldn't ask Mr. Holmes's urchins; she had no idea where to find them.

Nor could she contact Mr. Holmes's brother (if what Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson said was true, then Mr. Mycroft Holmes would hold a position similar to the officials of Scotland Yard).

There was nothing she could do, and sitting around worrying about her two lodgers wouldn't get the larder full up, and it was her day to go out to the market.

With a bonnet on her head, she started out, basket in hand.

As Mrs. Hudson wandered the market at Covent Garden, her thoughts roamed far from food.

_What would cause even the dear doctor to not send word to her of his and Mr. Holmes's safety? _

_Why were they still gone, when they'd left early the previous morning?_

Her mind most definitely elsewhere, Mrs. Hudson absently paid the one vendor for the tomatoes, and left to get the rest of what she needed.

As she made her way back home, she couldn't help the feeling that something had become of her two lodgers.

It haunted her all the way back to Baker Street.

Nearing her door, she saw a man leaning heavily – indeed, it was all that held him up – against the wrought iron railing. Some client of Mr. Holmes, no doubt, or a man in need of the doctor's services.

His clothes had been nice, once, but now they were tattered and filthy, and he appeared hurt.

Somehow, Mrs. Hudson felt she knew him, but could not place him.

"If you are looking for Mr. Holmes, or Dr. Watson, sir, they are not in," she began. "I have no idea when they will be back…."

The man interrupted her by shaking his head, and when he raised it, Mrs. Hudson barely recognized him.

It was only the weak murmur of 'Mrs. Hudson,' that assured her it was the doctor.

XxX  
I know, I know; why am I writing _another _one when I haven't finished all the others, right?

Sorry. I can only say that this idea got in my head, and it won't leave me alone.

Anyway, I hope you liked it, everyone. Review, please!

*Holmes, Erik, Zuko, and Frodo proceed to whack authoress with rolled up newspapers*

OWIE!!! You guys promised not to use the _Sunday papers _anymore!


End file.
